A Dream Too Real pt 2
by NiennaHelyanwe
Summary: Ok, not much in the second chapter. Check out the AN.
1. Default Chapter

A Dream Too Real  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations owned by J.K. Rowling and various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations will appear as necessary.  
  
Author Note: Many thanks to Devora for her wonderful ideas! Yes, I know this chapter is slow. But it's just the beginning, so bear with me. This is also my first fanfic, so bear with me on that too. I am very open to constructive criticism and other ideas. If it needs work, tell me so. I also need beta readers, to any of you who are interested. Send me an e-mail and let me know.  
  
He walked through the graveyard in the darkness of the night. Mist was swirling all around him, the air thick and hard to breathe. Graves stood lonely and long since visited, overgrown with weeds, the words etched on their cold faces slowly being eroded with time.  
  
She had been taken this way, he knew. Dragged through the mud and muck, held tight by the burning arms he remembered so well. He could see their footprints fresh in the moist ground.  
  
"Hermione!" he cried, his voice echoing across the sky. There was no answer. "Hermione, answer me!" His breath came faster now, with more urgency. He had to find her. He had to find her, before Voldemort did something unspeakable. He cried out one last time: "Hermione!" *** Harry bolted upright in his bed, drenched in sweat and his heart pounding. He glanced around the dormitory, and watched as his roommates slept on, their breath coming slow and steady. Ron let out a huge snore in the bed next to him. Harry was relieved; he hadn't cried out in his sleep like so many nights before. Lying back down, he stared up at the ceiling, thinking about his dream. It wasn't the first time he had dreamed something-or someone, had taken his girlfriend. However, it was the first time he had seen who it was. Voldemort. Always, it was Voldemort, taking from him whatever he loved most. First, it had been his parents. Now, it was his girlfriend. Harry knew that sleep wouldn't be coming to him anytime soon, so as quietly as possible as to not wake the others, he slipped on his red Gryffindor robe and crept silently down the dormitory stairs to the common room. What he saw there startled him; he was not as alone as he thought he would be. A familiar bushy-haired head stuck up from the chair pulled close to the roaring fire. Harry smiled to himself, relieved he wouldn't be alone. "What are you doing awake?" he whispered, sitting in the chair nearest to his Hermione. She jumped at the sound of his voice, then leaned back into the soft material of the chair, smiling. Her face was lit by the firelight, making her features appear softer. "I couldn't sleep," she answered, running her finger around the edge of his face. "You had another dream," she added. It wasn't a question, but a statement. "No. No, I didn't," Harry lied. He hated worrying her, especially when she was so stressed already, what with her immense workload, and her parents' marital problems. "Yes you did. I can see it in your eyes. What was it about?" Harry shifted his bright green eyes away. She was always able to read them, no matter how well he had his face disguised. "Nothing," he said hoarsely. "It was nothing. Why couldn't you sleep?" She kissed him lightly, catching him by surprise. The fire danced on, creating lively shadows against the wall. "Never mind why I can't sleep. Tell me, what was your dream about?" He kissed her in return, and took her in his arms. "You," he replied.  
  
She pulled away, and stared him squarely in the face. "There's more to it than that. You wouldn't be down here if there wasn't." He shook his head, his dark tousled hair waving madly. "No, there isn't more to it. I just woke up and couldn't get back to sleep." His tone warned her to leave it alone. She knew how to read his voice, as well as his eyes. "So tell me, why are you awake?" Hermione was quiet for a minute, just resting in Harry's arms. She turned her head away. "I had a dream, too," she admitted, focusing her eyes on the fire, and not on his face. "About what?" Harry asked, resting his cheek on her hair. Again, Hermione hesitated. Did she really want to tell him? Harry was more persistent than she was.he'd keep asking if she refused. "Voldemort," came her small voice. She sounded tired, and strained. Before he could say anything, she continued. "He took me while I was sleeping, and bound and gagged me. I tried fighting back.but he just held on stronger. His fingers burned my skin. I tried calling for you, but I was gagged too tight. Then he dragged me through an old graveyard.I was so scared.and then I woke up." Harry felt his breath catch as she spoke. There's no way, he thought, No way we could've had the same dream. That's too.too unnatural. Too surreal. Harry tried speaking, but the sounds wouldn't come out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It was just a dream," he said into her hair. It smelled of the strawberry shampoo she always used. "Dreams don't mean anything." He kissed her again, long and hard this time. But in his heart, he knew his words weren't true.  
  
*** Hermione pecked Harry on the cheek one last time as she headed up the stairs to her dormitory. She tugged herself from his grasp, and smiled serenely. "I love you," she said, and turned her back and started up the stairs. The minute he was out of earshot, she whispered to herself: "I do love you, Harry Potter, and everything about you, but you are one damned no- good liar!" It was obvious he was lying about the dream. Hermione prided herself on knowing him better than that. In fact, she knew him better than anyone else-Ron, Ginny, even Sirius. She had known him since they were eleven, and had dated him since they were fifteen. Now, at seventeen, his thoughts were her thoughts. His feelings were her feelings. Entering the dormitory and shutting the door silently behind her, she pulled her wand from her robes. "Lumos," she whispered, and used the tiny light to help her see as she drew down her bed covers. Lavender Brown snorted and rolled over, making a great deal of noise two beds over. Crawling in bed, (and hissing "Nox," to put out her wand) Hermione thought some more about her small conversation with Harry. She had felt his body stiffen up next to her when she mentioned what her dream was about, and she took that as a sign that he had had the same dream. She was at the top of every class, and had been since first year. She wasn't stupid. And she certainly wasn't naïve. Hermione knew when she was being lied to, especially when it was by her own boyfriend. But on the other hand, she knew that Harry was only trying to protect her from worrying. She had so much going on right now. She had, once again, made the mistake of signing up for one too many classes, and her parents were having problems at home. Divorce was definitely in the future. That was what got to her the most. The workload she could handle, but when her parents were splitting up after more than seventeen years of marriage-well, that was a bit of a strain. But Harry had really been pulling for her. How many nights had he lain with her, holding her as she cried? How many Quidditch practices had he skipped, to soothe her hurt? Hermione had pleaded with him not to risk the team's ability like that, she would be fine and would he please go to practice, but it was to no avail. And she could tell he really didn't mind being with her, either. Yes, Hermione could read Harry like a book. And I intend to let him know that, she yawned, right after I get a good night's sleep.. *** Ron Weasley propped himself up on his elbow, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He yawned, and stretched, attempting to roll over onto his stomach, but instead misjudged how much room there was left on the bed. A loud crash resounded through the room as he toppled to the floor. He lay there for a few minutes, embarrassed beyond all reason, when a smirking face with tousled black hair and bright green eyes appeared above him. "Smooth move," Harry laughed. Ron's face flamed a deeper red than it already was, rivaling the vividness of his distinct Weasley hair. "Oh, bugger off," he mumbled, accepting Harry's outstretched hand to help him to his feet. Once firmly on the ground, he straightened his red pajamas that had become cockeyed when he fell. They clashed horribly with his hair, and were the kind that looked as though a five-year old might where them. Might being the operative word.  
  
Again, Ron noticed Harry was smirking. "What now?" he asked. Harry just shook his head and threw Ron his Quidditch practice robes. "Nice pajamas, Ron. Now get dressed!" Ron shook his head incredulously. "Quidditch practice? At this hour of the morning?" "Nice try, Ron. It's almost noon; you've slept the entire day. Now come on, we have to be out at the field before Malfoy gets there." They didn't say anything to each other as they walked out of the castle into the bright open air. The sun was shining, as it so rarely did, the sky was a clear blue, and the ground was hard. There was a slight breeze that waved Ron's hair and rippled the grass. They made their way to the field, Ron yawning occasionally as they did so. Ron was glad Harry didn't bother to strike up conversation-lately, he hadn't felt much like talking to him. Oh, it wasn't something Harry had done by knowing it; quite the contrary, actually. But it was something Ron couldn't help feeling a particular hate toward Harry for. "What's up, Ron? You haven't said anything since we left the castle," Harry's voice broke the silence as they neared the Quidditch field. 'What's up, Ron?' Ron thought to himself snidely. Don't you get the picture, Harry? I've only made it too obvious. What more does he want from me-a flowery speech about how much I'm in love with-. His thoughts were cut off as he saw her just across the field, sitting in the perfect place, so she could see their practice perfectly. His heart raced as he kept watching her. She was so.so perfect. "Ron? Ron.hello? Is anyone in there?" his sister, Ginny laughed, waving her hand in front of his face. "W-what? Ginny, get your hand out of my face!" he snapped, his eyes tearing away from the girl at the other end of the field. Ginny dropped her hand. "Sorr-ry," she said huffily. Harry threw him a questioning look as they began their practice. Ron shook his head slightly, as he kicked off into the air. He threw one last glance to Hermione's sitting place, and wondered why he had to be in love with his best friend's girlfriend. 


	2. A Dream Too Real, pt 2

**A Dream Too Real**

        Disclaimer: This fanfic is based up characters and events owned by J.K. Rowling and various publishers. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations will be made where necessary.

            Author's Note: Once again, here we are, chapter two of  A Dream Too Real. This chapter is a bit slow, too, and I promise it'll get better next time. I've introduced some Draco into this chapter, let me know what you think. Again, constructive criticism and ideas concerning improvement are welcome.

Ginny Weasley turned around a corner to head to her Charms class, keeping her head turned, calling final goodbyes to her friend, Lavender Brown. "All right, Lavender, I'll let you know what--augghh!!"

Before she could stop herself, she had plowed right into a very tall, very slim, very firm body. Her books tumbled out of her arms, and her bag spilled out onto the floor. Ginny felt her knees buckle and she slid backwards, landing on the floor with a hard _thud. Quills, parchment, and broken bottles of scarlet ink littered the floor around her. The bell chose this time to ring, declaring her lateness. _

Ginny looked up to see just whom she had run into, and groaned inwardly. She squinted her eyes shut. _Not him, please, anybody but him, she thought to herself. But, alas, when she opened her eyes again, he was still there. Crouched in front of her, picking up his dropped books and quills, was silver-haired, light-eyed, very gorgeous Draco Malfoy. _

            Draco's eyes met hers, and Ginny flushed scarlet. "Well, if it isn't Weasley and her secondhand books," Draco drawled.

            Ginny rushed to gather her things, ignoring Draco's snide comment. She pulled her wand out of the pocket of her robes, and muttered "_Reparo," while pointing her wand at the shards of inkbottle on the floor. Quickly, they zoomed back into place, and she placed it back inside her bag, nestled between her Charms and Transfiguration books. _

            "What's the matter Weasley, why aren't you talking to me? Don't tell me your secondhand books are more important than me. Who knows, this may be your one and only chance to strike up conversation with Draco Malfoy," he hissed in her ear. 

            Ginny stood, and Draco followed suit. "What's the matter, Weasley--" Draco began again, but Ginny cut him off.

            "You know what, Draco? Go to hell." With that, Ginny stalked past him, her robes swishing behind her. 

            But, the familiar cold voice stopped her in her tracks. "So, you have a backbone after all," Draco called. Ginny turned to face him. He was grinning from ear to ear, and when he found she had no remark, he turned slowly and continued on his way down the hallway. 

            Ginny turned around again, and went on her way to Charms, which there wasn't a point in going to anymore. She slipped through the door, receiving a reprimanding glance from Professor Flitwick as she hurried to her seat and took out her books.

            Yet her mind wandered all through class. Why couldn't she get Draco out of her mind? And what was it about him that made her heart race like that?

***

            Why couldn't he get Ginny out of his mind? There was nothing special about the girl, of this he was sure. She came from a family who was a disgrace to the wizarding name, was the youngest from a family with more children than they could afford, and had a Muggle-loving father who had a collection of Muggle items in his garage. Ginny was part of everything Draco despised.…..but he couldn't get her out of his thoughts. 

            Flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, as usual, he entered the Great Hall at dinnertime, throwing menacing looks at the Gryffindor table, and receiving looks just as menacing from that Potter idiot. 

            "What're yuh glaring at?" Crabbe asked, in his usual clueless tone.

            "Nothing," Draco spat, "Just Potter." He took his seat at the Slytherin table, just as the plates before him started filling with food. Ginny was almost completely out of his thoughts, when he happened to glance up for a split second, and catch a glimpse of the familiar Weasley hair. 

            It had to be, of course, Ginny. She weaved her way around the tables until she reached the side of Gryffindor table where Potter, the other Weasley, and Granger were sitting. The other Weasley slid over just enough to allow Ginny to squeeze her small frame in beside him and Hermione. He could see her face perfectly from where he was sitting. That meant she could see him, too. Oddly enough, he felt his heart jump a little at the idea. 

            Suddenly, he felt arms encircling his neck, and a sickenly sweet smell enveloping him. He coughed and spluttered as he shoved the arms away from him.

            "Pansy--what the _devil are you doing?" he gasped, leaning away from Pansy Parkinson, who must have attempted to hug him from behind. Of all the girls that had fallen for Draco, Pansy was by far the most daring. _

            "I just--I wanted--," Pansy stuttered, wringing her hands together. Obviously things were not going as she had planned. 

            "You were trying to hug me, weren't you? Weren't you?" Draco hooted, beginning to laugh. "Pansy.…..I've never been hugged before in my _life." He shook his silvery head, and turned back around, away from Pansy's pug-like face, shaking with silent laughter. _

            His light eyes found their way to Ginny again. She was staring directly at him. There was no mistaking it. Their eyes locked. _Dammit, not her again, he thought. _

            Draco had an idea. He leaped up, grabbed Pansy from behind, whirled her around and planted a long, hard kiss on her mouth. When he pulled away, Pansy stood looking shell-shocked. But Draco wasn't looking at Pansy. He was gazing at the slim form of Ginny Weasley, rushing out of the Great Hall, her eyes on the ground. 

            Draco didn't know why, but suddenly he felt like the lowest human being on the face of the Earth. 

***

            "And then he……Ginny? _Ginny?" Hermione stopped telling her story at the look on Ginny's usually rosy face. Her face instead, was pale, her eyes wide and disbelieving. Ginny jumped up from the table, knocking over a pitcher of pumpkin juice as she did so. Without so much as a word goodbye, Ginny fled from the room. Hermione turned her bushy head in the direction of Ginny's stare, and knew immediately what was bothering her. Draco Malfoy was standing up, his lips planted firmly on Pansy Parkinson's ugly face. _

            Ron pulled an old piece of parchment out of his bag, and attempted to sop up the mess of the pumpkin juice. 

            "Ron, parchment isn't going to do a damn thing," Hermione snapped. "_Accio napkins," she said, her wand pointing to the end of the table. The napkins zoomed toward her, and straight into her outstretched hand. "Here," she continued, slapping half of the napkins in Ron's hand, the other half in Harry's. Then, she stood, jamming books carelessly into her bag, a very un-Hermione like thing to do. _

            She bent over, kissed Harry's cheek and said, "I'm going to find Ginny. You two stay here." With that, she left the Great Hall and hurried toward Gryffindor tower. It was easy enough to find Ginny. She was lying on her bed, eyes fixed on the bed draperies. She didn't turn her head when Hermione entered the room, only sighed. 

            Hermione sat on the edge of Ginny's bed, like her mother used to do whenever Hermione was upset about something. At the thought of her mother, she felt her heart give a little tug. No, best not to think about her right now. Too painful. 

            "Ginny……" Hermione began.

            "Go away, please," Ginny said tonelessly.

            "Not until you tell me what's wrong," Hermione stated firmly. 

            "I have a stomach ache."

            Hermione sighed. "Ginny, don't lie to me. I saw Draco kissing Pansy. That's what's bugging you isn't it? You like Draco."

            Ginny sat bolt upright, shaking her head vehemently, and her long hair swinging violently. "No! I don't……not Draco……"

            Hermione felt her eyes go wide and her pulse begin to quicken. _If it's not Malfoy then who is it? She thought. _

            "Not Draco? Ginny, don't tell me you have a crush on _Pansy," Hermione said incredulously. Ginny was the last person she'd expect to have feelings for __girls. _

_            Ginny stared into Hermione's confused brown eyes, and then collapsed into hysterical peals of laughter. "Pansy!" she hooted, falling over backwards and clutching at her stomach. "Pansy!"_

            Hermione felt her face begin to relax. "So it's not Pansy?" she asked, grinning a little.

            Ginny gasped for breath. "No, it's not Pansy!" she laughed. "Why would you even think that?"

            Hermione shrugged, and she felt herself blush. "Well then, who is it?"

            Ginny's laughter stopped abruptly. "Nobody," she replied softly, her eyes downcast. 

            Hermione stretched out her arm, and pushed a lock of Ginny's red hair out of her face, the way her father used to do. Again, Hermione felt that tug at her heart. Thinking about her father was painful, too, and she pushed him into the corners of her mind. 

            "Ginny, don't lie to me. Please, I hate it when people do." Her mind went to the night before, and the dream she knew she had shared with Harry, although he wouldn't tell her. A shiver went down her spine as she remembered her dream. So real…it had seemed so real. 

            Ginny was silent for a moment, and then she looked up at Hermione, bearing her heart in her eyes. "You guessed it, Hermione. I'm in love with Draco Malfoy."

            Hermione swallowed hard, and nodded. _It had to be Draco, didn't it? Why couldn't it have been anyone but Draco? She thought to herself. Yes, Draco was exceedingly good-looking, an excellent flier (though not nearly as good as her Harry), and if you gave him the chance, Draco could charm the pants right off of anyone who could stand to listen to him long enough. But, although Draco did have a good side however miniscule it was, he also had an ego as big as Britain itself, which he seemed immensely proud of. _

            Ginny's voice snapped Hermione back to reality. "But Draco seems to be with Pansy, so I'm out of luck." Ginny sighed heavily.

            Hermione bit her lip. "Ginny, I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but Draco……he's a _Slytherin," she said._

            Ginny smirked. "Good call, Hermione."

            "Well, what I mean to say is, he's a Slytherin and you're……well, you're not." 

            "Hermione, do you have a point or do you just like listening to yourself talk?" Ginny asked, beginning to become agitated. "Because you know, you don't have to worry about me and Draco getting together. He's got Pansy Parkinson to occupy his time, remember?"

            Hermione pursed her lips together, and ran her hand through her hair. "Look, Ginny. You need to get your mind off Malfoy. I'm taking you out tonight. We're going dancing at The Three Drumsticks," she declared, getting up off of the bed. 

            Ginny looked ready to protest, but before she could open her mouth, Hermione continued. "Be ready at eight o'clock. And wear your dancing shoes." She winked, and left the dormitory. 

***

            "It worked, Master, the Dreaming Drought has worked!" a greasy-sounding voice cried. 

            "You're sure, Wormtail?" the cold voice responded. 

            "Positive, my Lord, positive. I heard the girl tell Harry Potter last night by the fire. I had taken my rat form, and crept in after that forgetful git, Neville Longbottom. There I sat below a chair, waiting for them. And they came, Master, they came!" Wormtail exclaimed.

            "And they're at Hogwarts, you're sure?" the cold voice asked. 

            "Yes, Master, I'm positive."

            "And Harry—he'd do anything for the girl, would he not?"

            "He would, my Lord, he would."

            "Good. Now, Wormtail, go to Cornelius Fudge. Tell him Voldemort has risen again." He laughed a cold, high-pitched laugh that could chill someone's very bone marrow. It was pure evil……he was pure evil.

            And what the good wizards in the world had feared for seventeen years had become a reality, although they did not know it yet. Voldemort was back. 

***

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, sat behind his polished oak desk, reading the day's Owl Post. He shook his head, his bowler hat slipping sideways. "Alastor. I should have known," he said, staring at the piece of parchment he held in his hand. He shook his head again. "Peter Pettigrew, Alastor?" he muttered. "Peter's been dead for seventeen years……"

                A crash resounded through the room as the door was flung open. Fudge jumped to his feet, eyes wide, and mouth hanging open.

            "Bloody hell," he gasped, "It _can't be."_

            But it was. Before him stood a short, middle-aged man with a portly build. His hair was thinning, so much so he was nearly bald. His eyes were blue, and would've been comforting if they weren't so watery and beady-looking. Fudge also noticed, at the end of one fat arm, was a metal hand. 

            "Hello, Fudge," Pettigrew sneered. 


End file.
